Neighbors
by Ivanknovv
Summary: Dipper and Norman have had a kinda sorta blood feud of one upmanship for the last 13 years, problem is, they cant keep their hands off one another, and i dont just mean throwing punches.
1. Chapter 1

**How About No**

"Hey! Quit hoggin'." Dipper said, gesturing to Raz, who was taking an exceptionally long drag from the top of the bong. He'd waited long enough, hell, it felt like a solid year since he'd taken a nice long toke, and he swore to god that he could feel his high wearing off, and if Raz didn't hurry the hell up, he was going come down, and be pissed.

Raz, came off the top, and wheezed a little, grinning goofy and using the lateral of his tongue to blow smoke rings in the air. He failed. "Dude, chill, I know what share means." Raz said, leaning back nonchalantly, biting his tongue because it felt good to him. Dipper gave him a look, and snatched the bong, and the slightly scuffed lighter. Fuck Raz, if Dipper was in his right mind, he'd get off his fat ass and take his ass down to Trenton and find himself a dealer, but he didn't have time for that, he was too grown.

The lighter came to the bowl, and he lit it up, putting his mouth over the lime green shaft, and breathed. Smoke, fumes and the otherwise flowed into his lungs, and that all too familiar weightlessness came over him again. There he was, back home, betwixt the reigns of a six-leaved plant.

Dipper coughed solemnly, and set the bong down on the dinky little coffee table that sat in front of the ratty couch, shoving more cheetoes into his mouth, and taking a sip of some of his drink. Raz had the bong again, but he was up there again, so there was no need to quarrel.

Just a normal Thursday night in the household of Dipper pines, one could suppose. He'd been doing this since his third week of high school, he remembered because the first time he smoked pot, he set his hair on fire. (he needed a haircut anyway.) The usual pot smoking ceremony took place more often than dipper had a proper meal. Pot fumes lingered and kissed just about every inch of the bottom floor of the house. It was a mundane as taking a shower, well, in dippers sense it was.

Raz gave him a sheepish sideways look, running his hands through the dark red hair that laced his head. Dipper, had reached that blissful state of cannabis nirvana where everything was pretty, and he was just conscious enough to retain his basic motor skills.

And that's when the redhead struck.

He prowled along the hem of the couch like a tiger, or at least that what was her was akin too, and he arrived at the crux of dippers legs so smoothly and sublime, one would have the notion that he had been there the entire time. A breath was taken, and partially shook as Raz' fingers brushed the lateral of his stubbled cheek, prickly hairs meeting calloused fingers. He could smell him now; the deep sent that Raz wore constantly. It lingered between them like it had been there forever. Dipper found himself, between his lust and Raz, whose hands moved down his lower collarbone, and found the makings of soft hairs on an even softer chest. Dipper's eyes met Raz' and the hand kept going, over exposed nipples, to the soft of his abdomen, and to the very hem of his underwear.

And that's when the music started.

Raz managed to wiggle his fingers between Dipper's underwear and his skin, and his hands went to work like he was on the assembly line. Dipper sighed slowly, leaning back so Raz could do his thing. The redhead leaned in, and he felt his lips on his.

Raz was odd, he didn't have a taste, he was just there, nothing special or extraordinary but the brunette found that so invigorating, or at least high Dipper did, but that was beside the point. Raz' hand was around his hardening length, and Dipper's hands slipped inside the deep of the others pants so he could grip his firm ass.

It was a long Thursday night.

XXX

It was raining. Outside, the sun cracked into dawn, sending streaks of royal purple across a deep blue sky, and brought the towns and cities to life. In the city in the horizon, suited men and dressed women crawled out from the darkness, harnessing book, briefcases, and consorts of the type on the trek to the subways and to the busses. Nobody in the neighborhood was awake yet, or at least he didn't think so, but that was none of his concern. The sky bathed the dry streets in warmth, and basked the streets in a holy light.

It was raining.

Pinot Blanc, not one of his favorites, but Norman supposed it was good enough to cater to his dwindling sanity, if he was even sane anymore. It was cheap wine, not like the hard stuff he kept around, it was cheap store-brand wine. The cold of the shower wall was finally warming up, and he could lean against it with minor discomfort. However, he had to be careful; the bottle could slip out his hands and send glass all along the tile.

He didn't really care.

Norman leaned back, sinking down to the floor with his knees high, taking another few gulps from the bottle of white wine. He'd had a long night, a night filled with sleeping pills that didn't work, and the acrid smell of cheap marijuana from the house next to him.

Ugh, he didn't even want to think about that asshole right now. He was too in contempt with sitting in the shower and drinking his early morning few cups of wine.

Weak ass wine, he couldn't even get a decent buzz.

Norman rose to his feet, shutting the shower off roughly and picking up the bottle as he left. He looked a mess to say the least, not like an alcoholic, but a mess. His hair drooped as much as it would allow, he had dark circles below his eyes, and he swore to god there was a ghost in the kitchen.

Fantastic.

Next door, the lights came on, and so did the loud music.

"Goddamit," Norman muttered, shaking out his hair and wrapping his lanky waist in a towel. This was how every weekday morning was. Norman would wake up at the asscrack of the god-forsaken dawn, and drink in the shower until he got a reasonable buzz, and at some time during his shower, Dipper would wake up, drag himself to his stereo, and blast his music. And it wasn't slow songs from the sixties' or classic rock, it was all underground rap, newer rappers from newer artists, Mash-ups, or dubstep.

Please god not the dubstep, Dipper sang when he played dubstep. Norman could only pray for the best.

Norman padded into his room, and went to the window that was parallel with Dippers.

"SHUT THAT SHIT OFF!" He yelled over the music, frowning and gritting his teeth. It was too early for him to be doing this. Dipper came to the other window, his all too cheeky grin on his face, and Norman was sure he got a shot of his crotch.

"SHUT UP NORMAN, GO BACK TO SLEEP. IT'S TOO EARLY FOR LITTLE KIDS TO BE AWAKE!" He yelled over the music. Dipper drummed his fingers along the lateral white of the window sill, and rolled his eyes.

Norman furrowed his brow. The almost ever apparent sense of irritation was setting in again, something that even the copious amounts of booze coupled with sleeping pills couldn't salvage. Reasoning with Dipper was akin to reasoning with a brick wall; it was hard, and refused to do what it told you. Dipper was too smug to listen, and Norman was too irritated to care. The drumming continued, and dipper gave him a tongue-in-cheek gaze. Norman rolled his eyes, and walked off. The towel around his waist loosened with each step, before falling to the ground, and exposing the entirety of his back to the idiot on the other side of the window.

Norman heard Dipper shriek with laughter at his bare ass.

"Lucky me."

XXX

Dipper had to admit when it came time to do something important, most of the time he ended up watching cheesy sitcoms and porn rather than taking himself down to the DMV like he was supposed to. But what could he say; in his opinion the Department of Motor Vehicles was a terrifying place that was always packed to the seams. He swore he could feel the evil in the building lowering his sperm count by the minute. He flipped open his notebook and grabbed the nearest pen.

"See…if the…DMV…Is possessed…" He muttered under his breath as he jotted the details down.

He was in his study, which was in turn, an extra walk in closet with a power outlet for his computer. It was dank, and dim, but he could care less. He was an enabler for god sakes. He managed to get the big desk through the tiny doorframe, so he was qualified to save the world, or at least perform an exorcism on the DMV workers. Dipper brand logic was flawless, and anyone who argued was dumb.

Mainly Norman.

Dipper sighed beneath his breath, and took the rolled up dollar bill in his hand, hunched over, and snorted.

It was a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Stop, Drop, and**

Traffic, otherwise known as the endless beep beep honk of cars, jammed deep into the cove of the expressways innards. Car after car shuffled like an old woman and her walker along the cracks of a seemingly ancient highway, and at the center of the turmoil, saddled in silver Prius was Norman Babcock, whose patience was wearing thin. One of the things that ultimately sucked about living outside of Trenton was the lack of stores. Sure, there were a few family owned stores, some nice Deli's and the occasional supermarket, but if you wanted food, healthy food, pesticide free broccoli and gluten free pasta, and farm raised chickens, you have to go deep into the heart of Trenton. The heart of Trenton is littered with fast food chains, coffee shops, health food stores, and Hipsters that couldn't make it (or take) New York.

He didn't ask for this, he was sure he didn't, but nevertheless, Karma decided it was nigh time for it to shit on Norman again, and in turn left him marooned in a sea of cars.

A sea of

Honking,

Blaring,

Tooting,

Cars.

And then there was the subject matter of the glove compartment. Norman had made it ritual to keep a bottle of something, somewhere at all times so he could level himself out if in the case measures came to drastic. It was a bottle of amaretto, and it was around Six months old. The last time Norman took a swig of anything while driving; he ended up taking out the mirrors on a Toyota, and busting the rear window out the back of a ford. His BAL (Blood Alcohol Level) was rumored to be off the scale.

Blue eyes frittered back and forth from the traffic, and to the compartment, and Norman could feel himself caving. He could taste it now, the sweet, almost nutty tang of the liquor, as it heated himself and his body up in a cascading warmth. It was so damn tempting, and he had a reason right? He felt the soft beating of a headache denominating itself behind his right eye, the booze would help, right?

"No!" Norman said aloud to himself, slapping back into place and frowning at the string of traffic that barely moved an inch.

BEEP! BEEP!

Norman Babcock jutted up from the steering wheel, his forehead sticking to the leather and his air drooping just a tad. It took him a moment to comprehend his whereabouts, a narrow road with a graffiti strewn building to the left.

BEEEP!

"MOVE IT! THE LIGHTS GREEN!"

He fell asleep at the wheel. Again. And to make things worse, he dreamed about a goddam traffic jam. Who the hell dreams about a damn traffic jam? Who? Norman needed to get himself checked out. Dreaming about Strings of cars not moving couldn't be of any good will.

Norman pulled off to the left, diverging into the nearest parking lot, and taking the spot beneath the tree.

"Mornin Sleepyhead."

The darker brunette looked up from his calamity, and almost immediately scrunched up his face and furrowed his eyebrows. "Dipper," He breathed, feeling a headache dawning upon the horizon of his mind. "What do you want?" He exaggerated the last syllable to express his need for dipper to get the hell out his face.

Dipper scoffed in pseudo offense, feeling the sarcasm rising in his throat. He leaned against the open window, setting his small plastic bag on the edge of the pavement. "I just wanted to see what youre up to."

"Why would you care?"

"Why wouldn't I"

"Because you're a pompus assbag who never showers." Norman replied flat and low enough so Dipper couldn't hear. He didn't make eye contact with Dipper, but instead glanced in the rearview mirror like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He could feel Dippers eyes on him, down his neck, and up his arms, doing that thing that he did. Too many personal encounters had schooled Norman, and he knew all too well that the other adult was much smarter than he originally projected. He used words as a weapon, backed you into a corner, and poked you with it.

"You never returned my lawnmower." Dipper spoke, breaking Norman's train of thought.

He rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. "I didn't take your goddam lawnmower. Raz did."

"How do you know?" Dipper interjected harshly. "You been stalkin' me?"

"You told him he could, stupid. He took it yesterday morning." Norman said. "Look, unless you have something important to tell me, I'm just gonna head home."

Dipper smirked. "Well then," Norman didn't even see him move, he spin around the left end of the silver of Norman's vehicle. The door popped open, and dipper sleuthed into the seat. "You can give me a ride, right?

Norman came to the point in his mind where he had to weigh his options. On the first hand, there was the ever apparent option to catch an attitude like a winter cold, throw the other male from the passenger's side of a car, and back up on him until he stopped screaming. On the other hand, Norman could do what he always did, buckle down, bite his tongue, and do what he did in high school; just deal with it. Hell, maybe that was his problem. Norman was a pushover; he avoided conflict, physical and vocal at all costs. Even he didn't know why. But with dipper putting his feet up on the dashboard, and touching his radio in an attempt to agitate the hell out of him (it was working) he had no intention of stopping him.

God, he was such an invertebrate.

His eyes went to the glove compartment again, and just like in his dream, he started craving the sweet nectar of aisle four (Party favors, finger foods, paper plates, and specifically; cheap alcohol.) on the deep of his tongue.

"So, Norm, whatcha' been up too?"

Oh hell no. He knew he hated being called "Norm." Norm was a dork name. Norm was middle school, Back when he was unstable, well, _less_ unstable, and didn't know why the hell he could see ghosts. Norm was high school when he caught his hair on fire using a bunson burner. Norm was the kid who on the second day of college, ripped his pants walking down the main stairwell and everyone saw him. That was Norm. Or Normy. Or Norma.

He was Norman now. Alcohol fixed that.

"Ive, been good," He said. Short and sweet. No extra details, no nothing. He turned onto the turnpike, and shifted up roughly.

"So, what have you been doing lately? Besides taking my lawnmower."

Christ.

"Raz has your lawnmower. I told you that." Norman switched lanes, and allowed a motorist past his left flank. He took a glance in the others direction. Dipper was massaging his balls like a proper gentleman and had one foot up on the dashboard. He was going to have to sanitize the dash later, lord knows the last time his shower say the light of day, and he knew for a fact that he didn't change his socks on a regular basis.

"So, whats your dick like?"

He almost lost control of the car. "My…Dick…?"

"Yeah, you've been gettin' it in right? Got yourself a little girlfriend, right?"

Jesus fucking Christ. He hit it right on point, right in the epicenter of pain. Dipper knew full well where Norman spent his nights, and the scratches on dippers back had proof enough to already say that. He knew all too well about Norman's stance on his sexuality, and how sensitive of a subject it had manifested into. It wasn't the fact that Norman didn't gave effort into getting a girlfriend, they just never stuck. They'd be around for a quick minute, find out about him, and the next morning, they'd be up with their bags, and some money from the train. That's how they always were. Norman wanted a girlfriend. He wanted a nice woman, and two kids, and a white-picket-fence home with a small dog, he wanted to be normal and the more and more he made an effort to stay away from Dipper, to quit the sauce, and to get the hell out of Trenton and get a real job, the farther he found himself from his goal.

"Hey, I'm just saying," Dipper went out on a tangent. "You look like you need some pussy."

Wow no.

With a deafening screech, Norman jerked the steering wheel to the right, and pulled up halfway on the small sidewalk. It was a small bridge, with a little river beneath it, and a fall from about fifty or so feet. Norman moved to the passenger's seat, jerked open the door, almost ripped the handle from the glove compartment, seized the bottle of liquor that slept deep behind mcdonalds napkins and car manuals, cracked it open, and started guzzling amber liquid like his life depended on it.

Dipper was astounded. Beside the fact that he thought pulling over so Norman could have a drink was pretty badass, he was sure that the male didn't have a aggressive bone in his body. Talk about not knowing a guy.

Dipper warily stepped from the ajar door, and padded over to the male who was gulping down the second half of the drink and sitting on the guard railing, feet hanging over the ravine.

"Damn Norman, you gonna share?" He teased, coming up aside him. He gave him a cocky grin, and poked Norman in his side. His sensitive side. Norman jumped, a tickling sensation shoot through his right side, and jerked right off his seat.

And started falling into the ravine.

Dipper's face went from joking and saccharine, to one of pure horror, as Norman hit the water with a spine-shattering Splash. It all happened so fast, dipper only wanted to mess with him, he didn't even know Norman was ticklish! He didn't want to hurt him! "NORMAN!" Dipper bellowed at the water. He was okay right? It was just a little water, it couldn't do anything? Norman knew how to swim, Dipper had seen him do it many times before, but then an ever-apparent question was posed to him. _Why hadn't he come up yet?_

What came after that could only be accounted to the fact that He wasn't thinking anymore, he just did. He just acted, whether it was on impulse, or anything, the only thing that mattered, was the other.

The cold water hit the brunette like a ton of bricks, and dipper resurfaced with a deafening yelp, pushing curls from his clouded eyes, and searching for Norman. Maybe he was already dead, caught on a rock as he pushed out a final breath; maybe Norman had already floated down the ravine, and emptied into the Atlantic Ocean. Dipper didn't care; he just wanted to find Norman. He needed too.

Taking a deep breath, he stoked forward, delving beneath rapids and opening his eyes beneath clouded, musty water. Dipper swam forward, losing his right shoe, but patted on through the deep. Was that him? A small glint of silver caught his eye. Maybe it was Norman's sweater, _Hopefully_, it was Norman's sweater.

Time could only tell.

With each and every ounce of his might, dipper pushed on through the blades of water, seizing what he hoped was Norman and pulling it ashore.

"NORMAN!" Dipper cried out, hoisting the male up and thanking the spirits that it was him. He was unconscious, but not visibly hurt, but he was safe now, that was all that mattered. Dipper plowed through frozen waves, until he managed to get a footing on some loose gravel and sand, and brutally haul Norman out the cold.

'Oh god. He's dead. He's dead and it's all my fault.' Ran through dippers head like Usain Bolt on a sugar rush. Norman couldn't be dead! He couldn't! Norman was too strong for that. He pulled through always. A heartbeat! He needed to check for a heartbeat.

Dipper practically tore through the red hoodie, and the underlying grey shirt to Norman's pale, almost glowing chest.

Oh god.

He wasn't breathing.

All thoughts of a heartbeat went out the door, when the lack of air intake came to mind, and dipper could feel the fear setting in. He didn't know what to do! The heat from Norman's body was fading fast, and he wasn't breathing. Dipper pushed on his chest, like they did in movies, he regretted not taking that CPR class, but that didn't stop him from pushing deeply on the lateral of Norman's chest. He plugged the unconscious male's nose, and breathed, tears springing like hot geysers from his eyes, he pushed, and breathed into the other.

A soft sputter and violent coughing followed.

Norman had spit up the water, and dipper could almost feel the heat that returned to the others body. He placed Norman's head in his lap, and covered him with his damp shirt.

A siren resounded in the distance.

It was around two in the morning when Norman awoke, deeply embedded in a cocoon of blankets and flannel pajamas that weren't his. Hell, warm wasn't the way to put it, he was roasting like a thanksgiving turkey. He pulled back two comforters and a flannel sheet, leaving a thin under sheet on his torso. His bones ached, and he felt like he had been run over by a truck, but Norman made an effort to move from the couch, bones popping like bubble wrap and spine tingling with vigor.

Something was in the air, something sweet and tangy. It wafted on clouds of homestyle memories that only mom could bring, and it was oozing out the kitchen. Norman wrapped his lanky form in the thin sheet, and padded down the warm hallway.

The kitchen was abloom with darkness, the only beacon of light, the oven, which had something in it. Flipping on the switch, he slid over to the oven, and withdrew a small bowl of soup, and a bag of doughnuts with 'Sorry" Scribbled over them in sloppy cursive. Norman didn't have to ask who wrote it, or even begin to wonder, he already knew. Smiling, he pulled out a chocolate pastry.

"Dipper, You're an idiot."


	3. Chapter 3

**Christ On A Cracker**

Money, five letters that was revered by each and every human in the world. Money, just the mention of it, brought smiles to people's faces, and brought the evil out in their hearts. Everyone wanted money, but nobody needed money like Dipper Pines needed it right now. He padded around the house, headache behind his left eye, swaddled in the curlings of an ebony comforter that was easily twice his age. Since the entire "Saving Norman fiasco, a cold had crept up the lateral of his back, and proceeded to clog up his nose like a snot damn. The swelling of his head gave him headaches, and he swore that every time he sneezed, he leveled a mountain range. However, the state of his nose, and overall _self_ was being put to the back burner for the time being for a tangent that arrived in his mail each and every month; Bills.

Lights, Cable, Water bills came in his partially-dented mailbox like cake on a birthday; Plentiful, and partially sickening. Dipper was pretty sure that the light bill was overdue sans yesterday, and he knew that the water bill was due by Friday. He needed money, and he needed it quick.

Slapping a few manila folders on the kitchen table, Dipper, who was still swaddled in a blanket, took to the papers within. Each file was a case of some sort of a job for a paranormal investigator to benefit off of. The month had been fickle when it came to Jobs in the Trenton area, and these were his only jobs that made it possible for him to keep his house and clothes on the deep of his back, not to mention the tightness of his food budget. (All he ate was junk food anyway.)

The brunette shifted in his chair, and made a face at his papers. The first document was a bunch of Kappa's (Water Oni) living in somebodies Koi pond and covering the rocks in a thick coating of corrosive algae. Dipper would help, but the job didn't pay nearly as much as it should have, and in the grand scheme of things; he didn't have time for that. The second was a case of a psychic child who had the bad habit of moving the neighbor's cars with her mind powers. Raz could handle that one, Dipper knew all too well about meddling with the affairs of children with special powers. The last time that happened he had to buy a new sedan.

However, the third document caught his eye. It was a sludge, which was basically a moving anomaly of dark gunk, and it was sliding up and down an abandoned apartment building down on the west side of Trenton. Sludge's are usually some form of sewer gunk with a fair amount of paranormal discharge, or Ectoplasm thrown in the mix. Usually, they dissolve with some Drain-O, or an acrid combination of hot sauce and Vinegar. But nevertheless, it was the closest job, and it paid pretty well.

The brunette shucked off the blanket, and walked up the stairs bare as the day he was born, and pulled on a pair of pants draped over the banister. It was a commando kind of day, besides, underwear implied that Dipper had to do laundry, and that was the last thing that needed to happen in this interval of time.

Ew, laundry.

It was around two in the afternoon when Norman rolled up into the cracked driveway of the abandoned building, and the minute he laid eyes on the dented bumper of dippers ratty old pickup, was the minute he felt his heart hit his stomach and his stomach hit the floor.

Sure, Norman was grateful for dipper saving him from the cold of the jersey rapids, but hell, that didn't make him necessarily friends. Norman hated dipper, the kind of brand of hate that he would let his dog (if Norman had one) take a shit on the brown of dippers lawn, and maybe slash his tires. He didn't really know, but when it came down to it, Norman didn't have enough alcohol in his system to deal with Dippers smug attitude right now.

The pavement creaked under his feet, and Norman sighed up at the bleak Trenton sky as he shoved his emergency pistol in between the waistband of his pants and his underwear. In his hand, a unopened bottle of drain-o dangled off lanky fingers.

He considered drinking it.

"DIPPER! GET OUT OF HERE! THIS IS MY JOB!" Norman yelled up the staircase. Dipper poked his head over the top of the staircase, and his face morphed into a cross between a grimace and a smug grin. "SUCK A FUCK BABCOCK, I WAS HERE FIRST!"

"YOUR JUST GONNA FUCK SHIT UP ANYWAY!"

"ILL FUCK IT HARDER THAN I FUCKED YOUR MOM LAST NIGHT."

Not cool Dipper.

Not Cool.

Norman groaned audibly, and dashed up the opposite staircase, bypassing dipper before the other could trip him. Good, he was on track. All he had to do was find the sludge first, and avoid Dipper like the plague.

Easier said than done.

The building was a ratty old abandoned fucker, with the overall demeanor of an abandoned mental hospital east of silent hill. The entire building had been evacuated after a horrendous gas leak in the deep of the late 70's. The entire place remained the same, but the inhabitants never came back. It was coated in a thick layer of dust, which wafted around the room like air. Over the years, the place had been looted and used for what it was worth. Televisions were ripped from the wall, cabinets raided of its pots and pans, even beds were torn apart and carried out piece by piece. Now all that remained were sun bleached dolls covered in a blanket of dust. Not many ghosts inhabited this area, Norman found that odd. Ghosts usually took a paranormal lock to places like this because it reminded them of their childhoods, and times when they were alive, but this place was void of all afterlife, which was odd. The dead loomed everywhere, in Wal-Marts, playgrounds, even movie theatres, but this place, was void of any ghosts whatsoever. That wasn't natural (Provided that Ghosts are natural as a whole.) but this place was dead silent, and Norman didn't like that one bit.

Meanwhile, Dipper padded softly along the floorboards of a particularly dark hallway, a milk jug filled with vinegar and homemade hot sauce sloshing rudely in his hand. He could smell it, the acrid stench of a trail of sludge refuse bouncing around the room like a caffeinated toddler.

"Ew…" Dipper groaned audibly as he lifted his foot out of some thick goop that dotted the floor like an infection. He was close; there was no argument of it. IT was the kind of close where the hair on the rear of his neck stood up, and his forehead broke into a cold sweat. Not to mention that the smell became more and more foul as he delved deeper into the house. The brunette pulled his shirt over his nose, and trekked on with his flashlight.

"If this doesn't hurry up I'm gonna be blowing chunks all over my shoes…" He said to nobody in particular. Taking a deep breath, he gathered himself, and took another step…

Right into some goop.

At first, Dipper held in a scream as it began to seep into his shoes, but he was a mature adult, and mature adults didn't scream like children when something didn't go their way. Instead, he picked his goop-coated foot off the ground and grimaced at his foot. The goop moved a tad up his leg, and dippers eyes went wide.

"That was rude of you to step in me."

The voice came like an overture to Dipper's never-ending melancholy, and he could feel himself beginning to shake. On his arms, the hair stood up, and was coated in goosebumps. The goop began to crawl up his leg, slowly and almost sensually. Dipper yelped, falling on his rear.

"GETOFFGETOFFGETOFF!" He tore at the slime coating his leg as it verged up his shorts, and up his bare arms. He was scared now, hell, all reason and otherwise had gone out the window. All he knew is that he wanted this stuff off, and he wanted it off now.

It became clear what it was now. This wasn't some simple automatous slime dragging along the floorboards. This was something else, something more and more dangerous. This happened in rare cases, but it wasn't unheard of completely. This sludge had been eating ghosts, and the last one had formed a bond with it, and promptly possessed its mind. This one was being possessed with the ghost of Howard Sherman, the 78th street rapist.

**[Trigger Material Ahead]**

"I always liked men like you. Big, Strong, think they can do whatever they want…" The voice was back, echoing in his head like a sing-song nightmare, and it drove dipper up the fucking wall.

That's when he saw it.

The Slime had formed one composite being, a dark gray blob with a green mass at the center, it had a makeshift eye, and formed fingers out of slime, but the most heinous thing on the anomaly was the smile. It had formed a smile beneath the eye, and it was grinning, no, smirking right at Dipper.

It had him pinned down now, and the male could hardly breathe beneath its weight. It grinned down at him, stroking his chin with a slimy hand, as other wet tendrils found all his sensitive bits.

"Don't worry, imma Make you feel real good." It lisped as it slid some gunk over his mouth so the man couldn't speak. This wasn't right; Dipper didn't like being touched this way. He wanted it to stop, and for this monster to get off him so he could go scrub himself clean.

A tendril found the lateral of his nipple and flicked it, and Dipper felt himself groan under the weight of the monster. Oh God please no, not like this, anyway but like this. This hurt, this was hurting him. Jesus Christ please make it stop.

Another tendril found the way up his shorts, and grasped him with cold dirty goo. Dipper could feel the tears behind his eyes as the monster caressed him roughly, a smirk still on his face. God no, not there, just stop. Oh god he was getting hard, no no no no he didn't like this, no, why was his body responding like this, he didn't want this, somebody, please, help!

**[End Triggering Material]**

Closer and closer it came to his mouth, grin growing wider and wider as it seemingly became one with him. The ooze came unto the brim of his tongue, and began to slide down the deep of his throat, trickling down, into his body. The tendrils left his body, as more and more of the ooze dripped down his throat, and into him.

"Lemme borrow your body for a few…Okay?"

xXx

Norman didn't know when he felt the coldness trickle up his back and bite his neck with a frosty bite, but when he did, he knew that danger loomed ahead. He could see his breath, and he knew all too well when he could see his breath inside a building, he knew that shit was up. Shivering lightly, the brunette rubbed cold shoulders and pointed his flashlight down the stairwell of the basement. There was no way in hell he was going down there. No amount of money was going to pursued him to take his skinny rear down there, and wade through years of muck. Hell, there was probably an entire colony of Sludges down there just mating into one another. (They reproduce Asexually, don't listen to Norman)

"Hey sweetheart…Watcha up too?"

Norman shuddered and half-jumped as he felt hands place on the deep of his hips, and the heart of a familiar breath on his ear. God no. He didn't need this right no. Dipper needed to stay away from Norman in all ways of the word right about now, He didn't need his hands on his hips, or his lips on his ears, of his anything on his anything. He needed Dipper to back the fuck up before he got beat the fuck up.

Norman lightly shook him off and advanced down the hall. "What."

"You don't have to act so cold babe, I just wanted a little kiss." Dipper said behind his sunglasses.

"What dead body did you steal those aviators from? Or did you raid some poor guys dresser?" Norman said, not looking at him. Why the hell did Dipper need sunglasses for when he was inside on an overcast day? That was a real douchebaggy thing to do in Norman's opinion.

Dipper mad a face. "That's cold sweetheart. The only thing I plan to steal is our sweet ass."

Smooth.

Norman massaged the deep of his nose and glared at Dipper acridly. "Just get the hell away from me. Don't touch me, don't talk to me. Just leave me alone."

Dipper advanced on Norman again, holding the middle of his arms tightly and inhaling the scent of his hair. Norman felt him press into him, and begin to massage the lateral of his arms. This wasn't like Dipper. Dipper may have harassed people, but he knew to keep his dick to himself, and he knew the meaning of the word no. He may be was a ill-mannered asshole with an ego the size of Texas, but he wasn't a rapist. Be that as it may, Norman just wanted him to stop touching him, and the polite method wasn't working at all. "I SAID STOP!" He gritted his teeth, and with a sharp twist, backslapped the shit out of the felon.

Dipper recoiled like he had been hit with a truck, and the aviators went sailing against the wall, and cracked. That shit hurt, it hurt like hell, and Dipper had the red mark on his cheek to prove it. Norman on the other hand, stood encroachingly at the kneeled man, and tapped his foot impatiently.

"I told you to back off asshole." Norman began. "What the fucks been up with you lately anyway? youre acting like a giant cun-"

That was all he got out before he was tackled to the ground.

In the short three seconds of being pressed to the floor and effectively subdued, Norman saw white. It wasn't because he hit the ground or because he bit into his tongue and probably drew blood, but it was the man's eyes. Dipper's eyes lacked pupils, and left nothing but a milky white coating along the reigns of where iris should be. And right about then was when Norman remembered the first rule of being a paranormal investigator.

"_If their eyes glow a deathly white, they're being possessed."_

Making an attempt not to panic, Norman pushed the other away with all his strength. Dippers grip was heinous and bit into him like the venom of a snake, and Norman knew that he couldn't outlast the other on the plain of physical strength, and he had to think fast. Rocking backwards, Norman managed to place his feet on Dipper's chest, and with one great push, He kicked him off.

Dipper rocked backwards roughly, slipped again, fell, and hit his head on the floor.

Norman was still spread eagle on the floor.

Norman came to the crossroads in his mind, and weighed the worth of his options. He could get up and haul Dipper back to his house (Or the Ministry building) and have some of the higher-ups preform an exorcism on him. The second option was he could make an attempt to do it himself, Despite the fact that he failed the "Ghosts and How to get rid of them" unit. There was a third option too; Lay on the ground until he became one with nature, or in this case apartment building.

Damn.

The second option was his only option. If he tried to take dipper to the ministry building, there was too great a chance that he would wake up, and make an attempt to get some revenge.

Norman ran a hand through his hair, and placed a hand on the unconscious males forehead. His Latin was rusty like a bike that had been left out in the rain, but Dipper's life was at stake, and if he wavered, he could be next.

"Uuuh… Exilium te, turpis spiritum exire de corpore celeritatis flumine sancto proposito?"

Damn.

No dice.

Around that time, that's when Norman remembered that the enemy that they had been facing was a sludge, a sludge that could possess people, but regardless to the fact; A Sludge. That was right around the time that Norman remembered what Dipper brought with him into the building. Dipper was too much of a cheap-ass to go to dollar general and buy a ten dollar bottle of Drain-O, no, hipper Mixed some Vinegar, Lemon Juice, and Hot sauce together in a rinsed out milk jug, and shook like hell. Dipper was rachet as hell, but the smart kind of rachet.

Making his way upstairs, Norman found the jug on its side, thankfully still capped and intact. He grabbed the jug, and flew down the stairwell like he was on fire. Hopefully Dipper hadn't woken up yet.

His hopes were in vain.

When Norman came back, Dipper was ghost like Casper, the only testaments to him ever being there were the broken aviator sunglasses that laid to the side, and one of Dipper's Shoes. Apparently the ghost didn't have a taste for high fashion. Sighing, Norman took the Adidas show and tied the laces around his belt loop, and trekked on. He looked like an idiot with a shoe and jug, but it was better than hearing the other male's mouth about his one-hundred-and-twenty-dollar-shoes when the ghost was yanked out of him.

_If _the ghost was yanked out of him.

The sharp _TATATAT_ of running banged from overhead resounded, and Norman geared himself for battle. Nearby, a piece of a broken crib lay, coated with dust and the grime of years, but Norman was going to need this if in the case that he was going to subdue the runaway man.

The hallway was alive with the sound of silence; creaking walls, and skittering critters. Along the lateral of the wall, oily marks dotted dark patches in the dust, and created dark rings and circles in the wallpaper. Norman could feel the chill of an exclaiming fear that hung heavy in the air, and he could only pray to the gods that he was able to save the other. Norman crept slowly along the floorboards, rod in hand as he cautiously padded down creaking floors.

From behind Nipper sprang, latching onto the taller of the two and taking Norman to the floor with him. Norman screeched, and wailed on him with the rod like there was no tomorrow. Dipper grinned, his white eyes glowing and twisted Norman's wrist brutally, the metal rod falling out of reach. The brunette straddled the taller male, pinning him down by his arms, and breathing heavily.

"I like the ones that fight…"

That wasn't Dipper's voice. That was the voice of a criminal. That was the voice of a man that hurt, even killed people. Norman had to do something, and he had to do something quickly. He shook against the other, managing to get his left leg free, and in one swift move, he angled his leg up, and kicked Dipper right in the balls.

Three times.

Dipper buckled over, and groaned like a dying hyena, and Norman got to his feet, and made his move. Grabbing a handful of dippers hair, he roughly tugged back like he was pulling a lever. Dipper's neck jerked back, and the opening to his Adam's apple was struck with the backside of Norman's palm, which caused him to yelp. Norman took advantage of those few seconds, and shoved the opening of the milk jug into his mouth, and poured a mixture of hot sauce and vinegar down his throat. Instinctively, he swallowed it all so he wouldn't drown on such a vile concoction, but the moment the mixture hit the pit of his stomach, was the second that it all started coming up. Norman instinctively backed up, partly so he wouldn't get vomit on his shoes, and partly so he wouldn't be in a five foot radius of Dipper's wrath if in the case that this didn't work. Anyway, Dipper was still clutched over vomiting up a combination of whatever he had ate earlier, the acrid mixture, and what looked to be sewer gunk. The sewer gunk made an attempt to slide sway, but it was dissolving and dissolving quick. Norman gave a small smirk while the last of the nasty mess fizzled away, and he triumphantly put his hands to his hips. Dipper, on the other hand, looked high a a kite, but the color was back to his face and eyes. Turning, he gave a look to Norman, that was along the lines of 'Shit man, what the fuck happened,' and promptly fell out onto the rickety floorboards,

Norman put his hands in his pockets, and decompressed into his Normal soft spoken demeanor. "Get up, we should leave." He shrugged, undoing the shoe from his belt and putting it beside the brunette.

"Leave me here to rot." Dipper retorted from the ground.

"Don't tempt me."

"Bitch."


End file.
